Becoming We
by Talonwings
Summary: A collection of short stories focused on Kolbyon Whitewood, a young Gilnean warrior, and Amily D'Aure, a novice mage from Stormwind. These are in something like chronological order. I think.
1. Chapter 1

The moment she opened the cabin door and stepped onto the deck of the _Maiden's Virtue_ , Ammi was glad that she had thought to change into her heavier robe before their arrival at the harbor.

More so even than yesterday, the Northrend breeze bit sharply at the exposed skin of her cheeks and ears, and Ammi could already feel the encroaching prickles of numbness. Although it was only October, the land to which she had journeyed was harsh and distant from the milder seasons of her native Menethil, and winter had already found a solid foothold from which to direct its icy tendrils of wind and snow.

Around them, the vast stone canyons of the Howling Fjord towered into the air, creating a narrow strip of brilliant blue sky above, clear and cloudless to mirror the sapphire gleam of the fjordwaters below. Ice floes drifted here and there on the briskly-moving waters, but the sharpened prow of the _Maiden's Virtue_ cut through them easily, leaving a wake of shattered and gleaming ice shards dancing behind the bubbles churned up by the ship's waterwheel.

Ammi yanked her dark brown robe more tightly around her body, moving out from the shade of the passengers' deck and onto the main deck of the ship. The wind tousled her newly-chopped blonde curls into a wild halo around her face; spitting a few strands out of her mouth, the young mage approached the low-swooping rail of the _Virtue_ and leaned on it eagerly, curious eyes gliding across the craggy cliff walls as if intending to swallow the landscape whole.

A kind, mild chuckle sounded from above her. "Excited, are we, Miss Amily?"

Ammi glanced up into the rigging above her and smiled as a diminutive figure dropped down onto the deck. Faerah Silversteel might have only stood four feet and five inches in height, but the stocky, well-built dwarf woman was a more than capable sailor, with a loud and boisterous laugh to match her exuberant personality.

"If I said no, I'd be lying," Ammi replied with a grin. "Northrend is beautiful."

"So far," Faerah said with a mock-threatening shake of the head. "Wait til' ye've seen those vrykul for yerself."

Ammi laughed. "Don't worry, I'm plenty scared, too." She didn't lie; beneath the outward optimism and good cheer, a worm of unease stirred itself in her gut, coiling tighter with every caress of the knifelike breeze across her cheeks. Northrend was beautiful, but it was also clearly wild and savage, unlike any land that Ammi had ever seen or visited before.

 _Which doesn't amount to many, between Menethil, Arathi, Dun Morogh, and Elwynn_ , the young human thought wryly.

"Ah, ye'll be just fine," Faerah said, waving her hand. "Magician like you, capable and young? Besides, t'aint as if ye'll be alone."

"One of the very nice things about being part of an army," Ammi agreed with a mischievous grin.

"All the magicians get personal guardians, too," Faerah said matter-of-factly, looking up and yanking on one of the rigging ropes in response to a call from another sailor across the deck. "Strong warrior types, from what I'm told."

Ammi snorted. "Fabulous. A bodyguard to get in my way is exactly what I need." Secretly, though, the idea pleased her, quieting a small bit of the fear.

"Now, get on with yerself, Miss Amily D'Aure." Faerah rolled her eyes and laughed. "Ye know just s'well as I do that ye'll be best friends with yer entire unit come nightfall. I swear I never met a human who was so good at charming everyone she met."

"Clearly, my charm worked on you," Ammi teased.

"Eh, rightly enough." Faerah shrugged, her ironic grin softening into a real smile. "Ye're a good girl, Ammi. Ye'll get on just fine."

Ammi smiled too, reaching over and giving Faerah's shoulder a grateful squeeze. "Thank you. For your faith and for your companionship. I enjoyed this journey more than I expected." It was true, and Ammi realized with a pang of mild sorrow that she would miss this new friend.

"You go on and surprise me now," Faerah said with a wink. "We'll be in port in twenty minutes, so I'd suggest readyin' yerself. And put a hat on," she commanded as Ammi turned to descend belowdecks once more. "It's cold out here!"

They did indeed reach port within twenty minutes of the conversation; by that time, Ammi had stowed her few belongings and effects in her rough leather knapsack, pulling the cowl of her robe up to shield her head and face. The clothes had been constructed to withstand the northern chill, lined with furs and sewed in double layers, but the wind keened forcefully around the bend in the fjord where the harbor was situated, and as Ammi waited on the deck with the other new recruits, she couldn't help but shiver.

The port of Valgarde was a city in two halves; the half which contained the harbor and the tall barracks buildings was an old place, seeming to rise organically from the stone of the fjord itself. The structures were not elegant or ornate, but they were certainly functional, every curve of every tower designed in some way to withstand the harsh climate and biting winds of Northrend.

The further half of the city, facing away toward the sloping rise of the cliffs, was most definitely a new city, its newness rising ominously from blackened, charred, and smoking remains which were continually being added to by the light of what Ammi could tell even from this distance were raging fires. The buildings over there were constructed mostly from wood, dried and hollowed by the winds and the constant heat from the blazes. Rebuilding was necessary, but ultimately seemed pointless.

"When you disembark from the ship, you're to report to the barracks immediately to receive your unit number and barracks assignment," called the ship's captain. Ammi couldn't remember his name, having never had a real reason to speak with him.

"Magi will remain behind to meet with their guardians!" The captain saluted them and turned back to face the approaching harbor, his concentration focused now on the docking of the _Virtue_.

Ammi exchanged a short glance with the only other mage on board the ship, a sallow-faced, pasty young woman named Vivian Clearwater. Both women were novitiates, sent from their respective Academies to serve with the military for rank and experience. Vivian gave Ammi a quiet nod and a nervous smile, and then the _Virtue_ was sliding into the dock, the sailors scrambling to let down the anchors and get the ship properly moored.

The wind softened somewhat once Ammi stepped onto the ground; glancing around, she could see some of the recruits stumbling and rolling with the residual sensation of 'sea legs,' as if the earth were bucking beneath them. Ammi, the daughter of a merchant seaman, had no such trouble, having grown up on and around ships at sea. With a faintly amused smile, she hitched up the hem of her robe around her ankles and headed for the barracks.

She was greeted in the soldiers' common room by a tall man with dark hair and beard, who introduced himself as Lieutenant Hart.

"And you are?" he asked, glancing down at the sheet of commission papers which sat on the desk in front of him.

"Amily D'Aure, Novice Pyromancer of the Stormwind Royal Magical Academy," Ammi replied in what she thought was a very proper and formal tone.

Hart gave her a kind smile. "You're all right, there, Miss D'Aure. No need to try to be stiff. We here at Valgarde expect deference and respect to superiors, but this isn't like your traditional Stormwind garrison. Living out here, you learn to be…familiar."

Ammi sighed slightly, relaxing her straight-backed posture. "Sorry. I'm nervous. I've never been outside the Eastern Kingdoms before."

Hart pulled her commission paper from his pile and expertly stamped it with a wax seal, blowing on it gently as it dried. "You and half of the rest of these recruits," he replied. "You'll get used to it quickly, don't worry."

Ammi nodded and shoved a piece of hair behind her ear, watching him as he dried the wax and folded the paper before sliding it neatly into another pile.

"You'll want to stay here; there's quite a few recruits from your ship that I have to process before I can get you acquainted with your partner," Hart said. He gestured to the rough wooden furniture, which was arranged in what vaguely resembled a circle around a wide fireplace. "Make yourself as comfortable as you can."

Ammi nodded gratefully and took a seat, trying her best to ignore the ominous implications of that little word 'process.'

Forty-five minutes later, Ammi and Vivian sat alone facing the crackling fire; all the other recruits had been 'processed' and sorted into their respective barracks, and now the two magi waited in silence for the final part of their reception to Valgarde.

"Miss Clearwater, if you would," Lieutenant Hart called.

Vivian stood and brushed at her robe, approaching the officer's desk. He handed her a piece of paper, and she exited without a word.

"And Miss D'Aure," Hart said.

Ammi stood and walked back over to the small table, fighting the desire to lean on it. The adrenaline and excitement from earlier had all but worn off, and exhaustion was beginning to set in, combined with a keen and poignant prickle of homesickness.

"Here is the name and barrack assignment of your guardian," Hart said, handing Ammi another piece of paper. "Apart from sleeping, you and your guardian will be spending most of your days together; you will be partners on every assignment and every watch rotation, share mealtimes, and that sort of thing."

"Do you know who this is?" Ammi glanced down at the creamy folded sheet in her hands, suddenly anxious.

Hart shook his head. "No. But all of our soldiers are well-trained and I'm sure that whoever it is, there will be no trouble with either of your safety." He gave her a reassuring smile, and Ammi tried to return it.

"Thank you."

"Good luck, Miss D'Aure." Hart bowed his head and returned to his work, and Ammi inhaled a deep breath and exited the common room, the paper clutched in her hands.

 _I suppose I'd better get this over with, then._

She leaned on the stone wall of the corridor which led to the staircases and the actual barracks beyond, gazing down at the sheet of paper with trepidation.

 _Here goes._

Slowly, her trembling hands unfolded the sheet.

She read the information once, then twice, holding it in her memory. It was a man, and his name was Kolbyon Whitewood. He was assigned to Barrack Three, Bunk Seventeen. More information than that was unknown to her; the rest of the paper was blank.

 _Kolbyon Whitewood. I wonder who he is._

* * *

Kol sat on his bunk, his elbows leaned heavily against his thighs, and tried for the thousandth time not to regret every life decision he had ever made.

Coming to Valgarde, he was becoming increasingly certain, had been a huge mistake. Kol had been physically toughened and emotionally destroyed long before his arrival in Northrend, and still, he felt a tug of anxiety to be surrounded by men and women who seemed so weathered and prepared to fight. Third in his class at the Royal Warriors' Academy, afflicted with a terrifying and dangerous Curse, Kolbyon Whitewood still, inexplicably, was terrified out of his wits.

 _What is wrong with me?_ he mused silently and despondently. _Besides the obvious, of course._

"Hey, Whitewood."

Kol looked up as one of the other young men leaned through the doorway; Adam Velazquez was a dark-skinned and narrow-eyed boy two years younger than Kol's already-young twenty-two. He looked like a child, and Kol swallowed hard at the thought of watching more people meet their deaths long before it was their time.

"What?" Kol asked quietly.

"There's someone looking for you," Adam replied. "Says you're some kind of guardian?" He shrugged. "I dunno."

"Guardian?" Kol was confused. "Guardian of what?"

"How should I know? I'm just the messenger boy." Adam raised his hands and shrugged. "I just thought you should know that there's someone coming up here to find you."

"What source do you have that from?" Despite himself, Kol couldn't help but smile. Adam was kind and cheerful, but he had an ear for gossip, and not always the reliable kind.

Adam snorted. "Oh, I see how it is. Fine, then. Have fun." He grinned and slid out of the doorway, and Kol was alone again.

The young man sighed and stood up from his cot, bending over to touch his toes. He felt the faint stitch pulling at his side where he had been nicked by a Forsaken weapon during the long battle in defense of his homeland; the thought stirred up a messy soup of painful memories, and Kol shoved them all back with a mighty effort, staring at the stone floor dully.

"…Kolbyon Whitewood?"

The sound of the voice almost made Kol jump, but he forced himself to straighten slowly; no use in pulling a disc or a muscle out of place before he'd even gotten to fight.

The figure watching him curiously from the doorway was a petite, slender girl, certainly not older than nineteen. She was dressed in a heavy brown robe judiciously lined with furs, her feet shod in boots and her hands wrapped in sturdy, functional gloves; her cowl was pulled down around her neck, revealing a soft, heart-shaped face, pale in tone and studded with cheerful freckles. Her blonde curls were a short and wild halo around that face, and her eyes twinkled with interest as she peered at him inquisitively.

Kol swallowed so hard that he swore he almost swallowed his tongue.

 _Why this? Why now?_

He was aware that the girl was waiting for him to answer, so he tried to force his leaden jaw open to let words out; it was no use, however. Anxiety had utterly gripped him, and he turned away and sat crosslegged on the bed, inhaling slowly.

"Um…hello?" The girl knocked gently on the wooden doorframe. "Are you Kolbyon?"

 _Stupid mouth, just say something so she'll leave!_

"Yes," Kol finally forced himself to say, without looking back at her. He thought for a panicked moment that she might not have heard, and wondered if he could make himself say it again.

"Oh, good! I did come to the right place!" She sounded relieved. "And you're my guardian, then…interesting."

 _Her guardian? What?!_

"What are you talking about?" The sentence exploded out of him with far more ease now thanks to the shock; he turned around to face the girl with wide, paralyzed eyes.

"…Did they not tell you? Oh, that was kind of them." She rolled her eyes. "I'm a junior mage, and they always assign a warrior as guardian for mage novitiates. Kind of like a bodyguard, I suppose? Must be because I'm so breakable." She laughed and squeezed her own skinny bicep.

 _Who in the name of heaven thought that this was a good idea? Why me?_

Kol groaned and leaned back on the cot, flopping his arm over his eyes so he would not have to look at her anymore.

"Hey, are you okay?" she asked, sounding concerned. "Are you sick? Do you need a medic?"

"No," Kol mumbled hastily.

"What's wrong with you, then?" Her voice asked the question he had asked himself not even five minutes before, and Kol winced slightly at the sound of it, knowing how ridiculous he looked.

"Tired," Kol fabricated.

"Oh, I get it. I'm pretty exhausted too. What a trip, right?" She sounded sympathetic. "Well, I'll let you get some rest, then, and I suppose I'll see you at the evening meal. We can get to know each other then." There was a pause. "By the way, I'm Amily D'Aure. But you can call me Ammi."

"Okay," Kol sighed.

"See you, Kolbyon. Sleep well." Her voice became footsteps, which slowly faded away as she departed.

 _They want me to protect that skinny mage girl from dying? I can't even talk to her without feeling like I'm going to throw up._ Kol felt sorry for the girl, who had been stuck with him utterly beyond her own will, if what she said was correct.

 _What'd she say her name was? …Amily. Ammi._

Kol hoped that Ammi could get another guardian before they were actually assigned to any missions; otherwise, he felt certain that her time in Northrend would end swiftly.

 _Just like everyone else I ever tried to protect._

* * *

Ammi found her own bunk easily enough; the women's barrack was smaller than the men's, with slightly more amenities, including private washbasins and small chests in which to store clothes. She unpacked her knapsack slowly, still musing on her encounter with the strange young warrior.

Kolbyon Whitewood, from what she had seen of him, was a tall, muscular man, fair-skinned and ginger-haired with a neat and well-trimmed beard. At first, the facial hair had set her estimate of his age somewhere around thirty, but as soon as they had locked eyes, she had instantly revised her guess. His body was that of a man, but his face, unlined and youthful, and his wide green eyes, belonged to a boy just barely into manhood, _maybe_ twenty or so.

He had looked oddly terrified at the sight of her—or perhaps that was just Ammi's imagination. After all, he had said he was exhausted, and she believed him. She herself was fighting the urge to drop onto her cot and sleep through the evening meal.

And that was another thing—his voice was unlike any she had heard before. Dwarven accents were familiar to her, and by now, she had even become accustomed to the strange, rolling lilt belonging to the few Draenei whom she knew well. Kolbyon's voice, though, was deep and rich, and fluid with an accent unfamiliar to her ears, wherein one word drawled into the next in an almost liquid stream of speech.

 _Yes, in the one full sentence he spoke to me_ , she thought. _I wonder if he really is ill or something. Places like this are certainly prime breeding grounds for that sort of thing, especially with all the plague danger._

Ammi certainly hoped that he wasn't ill; he had spoken little, but Ammi found herself wanting to get to know him, despite the anxiety. They might have been forced together by the commission papers, but here was a valuable opportunity to cultivate a friendship in a strange and foreign land, and Ammi would not let it go to waste.

 _Mealtime. We'll speak then._

With that resolved, she closed her trunk and sat on it with a deep sigh, trying to drive away the heartache and longing beginning to set in with every moment of silence.

Mealtimes at Valgarde, like at most military garrisons, were boisterous affairs; although the soldiers were disciplined and well-trained, they were only people, and looked for opportunities to commune with one another in companionship and camaraderie.

Ammi thought to herself that the rations were surprisingly good; not haute quality, at any rate, but the stew's meat was flavorful and hearty, and the consistency was thick, with added chunks where potatoes and other vegetables had been thrown in. She took a bite and smiled, accepting a small hunk of bread before clicking her fingers and feeling a thrill of satisfaction as her canteen suddenly grew heavy with conjured water.

 _Score one for Ammi. Take that, arcanism._

She glanced around the spacious mess hall, peering through crowds of laughing, talking recruits and soldiers until she finally spotted the ginger-haired figure sitting alone at the end of one of the long wooden tables.

 _That's curious. What's he doing by himself?_

He looked up as Ammi slid into the bench next to him, and the same brief flicker of panic danced through his eyes as before.

"I found you!" Ammi laughed cheerfully. "Told you I would! Are you feeling any better now?"

"I…suppose." His voice was quiet, barely audible over the bright din of the room.

"You don't look very good." Ammi glanced at his tray. "Have you got enough food?"

Kolbyon nodded, looking down into his stew bowl. His face was very pale, cheeks almost grey. Was it the cold?

"Are you cold?" Ammi asked.

"No," he replied softly.

"…Is it me?" A faint brush of heat washed through Ammi's cheeks. "Am I bothering you? Oh, blast my talkativeness. Sol and Serena always warned me I could talk anyone's ear off." She already felt the guilt stealing up through her heart. "I can be quiet if you'd like."

Kolbyon shrugged silently, pushing his spoon around his bowl.

"I'm sorry," Ammi said faintly. "I didn't mean to be overbearing." She leaned unhappily on the table, her appetite suddenly gone.

 _If he doesn't want to speak to me, then what do I do? I can't make him be my friend, but I miss Sol and Serena so terribly much…_

"You aren't. I'm just…very bad with girls."

Ammi looked up, startled. He was actually looking at her now, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in evident anxiety. He was definitely young; Ammi studied his face closely in the moment of silence, appraising it privately. He had open, honest features which spoke of an old-line chivalry; his upper lip was faintly scarred, although the mark was hidden greatly from view by his ginger mustache. It was a face that Ammi liked, despite his ashen complexion and obvious panic.

"Oh, is it because I'm a girl?" Ammi laughed, trying to ease the tension. "Well, you don't have to worry about that. I might look small, but I grew up with three older brothers. I know how to handle myself around men." She grinned, privately hoping that she had said the right thing.

To her utter relief, he chuckled softly, though the nervousness didn't entirely dissipate. "I'm sure you're more than a match for me."

"I don't know about _that_." Ammi winked. "When Faerah said 'tall, strong warrior type,' she really meant it."

She was surprised to see him blush fiercely, his cheeks going from ghost grey to cherry red in a matter of moments. The color washed new life into his features, and Ammi suddenly realized with a jolt that he was _handsome_.

"Trust me, you'll reevaluate that statement—Amily?" He said her name nervously, as if worried he might misspeak it.

"Ammi," she corrected him kindly. "Only my parents have ever called me Amily."

"Ammi," he repeated slowly.

"And you're Kolbyon," she said, beaming. "Only, that's a very long name. Do you have anything shorter?"

Kolbyon smiled for the first time; hesitantly, but it was a nice smile, and Ammi responded with a wider smile of her own.

"Friends call me Kol."

"It's my pleasure, Kol." Ammi extended a hand, holding her breath; she exhaled in silent relief when Kol took it and shook firmly.

 _So we will be friends, after all._


	2. Chapter 2

For such a small person, it still never ceased to amaze Kol how fast Ammi could walk when she was focusing.

The tall young warrior watched his mage friend pull herself resolutely over the crest of yet another imposing-looking boulder, her dark brown robe swishing energetically about her ankles with the effort. Ammi's eyes were trained unilaterally on the distant silhouette of the vrykul village still at least a mile and a half to the north, her thin brows narrowed in concentration as she slid carefully down the opposite side of the boulder and began, once again, to march.

It was their first real expedition together as mage and guardian, as partners; both of them had been involved in defending Valgarde from the constant onslaught of raids and assaults by the Dragonflayer vrykul of Wyrmskull Village to the south, but this was the first time that they had been sent outside of the garrison alone to conduct an offensive rather than a defensive maneuver. The thought of actually having to keep Ammi from dying still made Kol faintly queasy; it was simple enough when you were surrounded by a barrack full of other people who all had the same desire to stay alive. Out here, it was just Kol and Ammi, and although Ammi liked to think she was made of iron, it was only too easy for Kol to imagine her skinny frame snapped in half by a pair of massive vrykul arms.

He'd gotten strangely accustomed to her presence without really realizing how it had happened; one moment, she had been just another noise at his side, something else to try to deal with as calmly as possible. Inexplicably, the next…she was his friend. Maybe his best friend; Kol didn't really know what the difference between a friend and a best friend was. All he knew was that his tongue no longer turned to lead when he opened his mouth to speak to her, and that his lips more often formed a smile than a frown when they conversed, which was a novel experience indeed.

"Hurry up, Kol!" Ammi called back to him. "You're lagging!" She laughed, and the sound echoed, bell-like, off the craggy boulders and the trunks of the massive pines. She was some distance ahead of him now, turned around to face him with her hands resting on her hips, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

With a smile and a shake of his head, Kol hitched his knapsack higher on his shoulder and increased his pace so as to catch her, fighting back the steely tang of dread.

 _We'll be all right. We have to be._

They called a halt just outside the boundary of the vrykul settlement of Nifflevar; Kol found a spot situated on a small, raised plateau with a vantage sloping down toward the village, an effective outpost from which to scout out their objective. He dropped his pack into the snow and hunkered down in a crouch in some attempt to relieve the constant chill brought on by the ever-strengthening winter winds.

"Here, let me help." Ammi raised her hands, but Kol waved his quickly, shaking his head.

"No fire," he said.

"Why not? It's daylight." Ammi lowered her hands slowly, a confused expression on her face. "Surely they won't see us?"

"They won't, but the proto-drakes are more sensitive." Kol gestured toward the village with a flick of his wrist; Ammi turned, and he saw her face visibly pale at the sight of an immense proto-drake gliding silently around one of the crude towers. The thing's leering maw glimmered with magical flame, its ragged, leathery wings somehow making no sound even as they rippled in the breeze.

"Right. No fire." She shoved her hands into the pockets of her robe and crouched beside him, spitting hair out of her mouth as she did so. "Do we wait for nightfall?"

Kol nodded. "We'll wait for their mealtime. I'm sure they'll still have guards stationed around the edges of the village, but they won't be expecting an attack from only two of us. We'll catch them off-guard." He raised a brow. "Have you been practicing?"

Ammi huffed in frustration. "I'm up to twenty seconds, but that's as far as I can hold a full invisibility charm without losing my focus. Arcanism has never been my strongest suit."

"Twenty seconds is plenty to cause all the havoc we need," Kol said with a reassuring nod. "Don't fret about the magic, Ammi. You're still a novice."

She waved her hand. "Yes, yes, I know. What do we do after we distract them?"

"Sneak inside and find their leader," Kol replied. "And…and kill him." His throat constricted around the words, but he forced them out anyway.

"What about the proto-drakes?" Ammi swallowed.

"…I don't know," Kol admitted honestly. "They seem to be well-trained, but I don't know if the Winterskorn would command them to light a building on fire or any such thing."

"Wouldn't it be something, to be sent on a mission like this and end up dying as proto-drake food?" She laughed a little, but Kol could sense— _and smell_ —the real fear behind the mask of humor.

"No one's dying as proto-drake food," Kol replied firmly, with more conviction than he actually felt. "I won't let you get eaten if you don't let me get eaten."

"That sounds like the job description," Ammi sighed. "If I become a meal, you have to avenge me."

"You're not going to be a meal, Ammi. I swear to you, I won't let it happen." Kol crossed his arms and faced her. "Hey, look at me."

She looked up at him, blue eyes wide with anxiety.

"You are not going to get eaten tonight, Ammi D'Aure. You have my word, on my honor as a soldier, that I will protect you." Kol set one hand against his heart, feeling it thudding at double time within his chest.

 _Can I even keep this promise? The last person that I swore to protect ended up impaled on the wrong end of the Dark Lady's glaive._

Watching Ammi's eyes flicker with relief, however, hardened his resolve significantly. Her ashen face relaxed, and she presented him with a pale but utterly trusting smile.

"You're my hero." She spoke the words in jest, but there was a ring of truth behind them that struck Kol poignantly to his core.

"I'm your guardian," he said simply.

There was nothing they could do then except dig in and wait for nightfall, which they proceeded to do with great caution. The snows were deeper here on the higher mountain, and Kol found a suitable snowbank in which they carved a small hollow and settled in, their backs resting against the soft cushion of powder, hidden from view as the sun reached its apex and began to sink lower in a rising tide of golden light.

From beyond the confines of their little hiding place, the sounds of life in Nifflevar drifted faintly up to their ears; the clang of weapon on weapon was accompanied by rough shouts in the vrykul language as warriors trained for combat. Underlying the noises of battle, just barely audible, strains of music wafted intangibly through the air, mournful and keening strings which seemed to pine for something irretrievably lost. Kol found himself thinking about Gilneas, about Whitewood, about his mother, whose face was a mere memory now, and that only from portraits. The thoughts sent a tight pain through his already-aching heart.

 _So much to lose and so little to find in this life, it seems._

"What sad music," Ammi said quietly. Her usually-cheerful face was solemn, the smile robbed by fear and melancholy.

Kol nodded his accord. "It sounds like a eulogy, only in music instead of words."

"What's a eulogy?" Ammi looked confused.

Kol raised his brows. "Have you been so sheltered? A eulogy is a speech given at a funeral in memory of the life of the person who has passed on."

"I've never had cause to go to a funeral," Ammi replied, and Kol felt a little ashamed at the timidity of her response.

"Then you're lucky, and I apologize for my bitterness." He sighed and shook his head. "I have been to too many funerals."

He wasn't expecting it when she laid her hand on his arm; the touch was significantly dampened by the layers of clothes covering both appendages, but the gesture's sweetness remained, and Kol looked up in surprise.

"I'm sorry." Her pale face was awash with sincere empathy, and he almost thought he saw his own pain mirrored in her eyes, though she had never lived it herself. Kol swallowed hard.

A sudden noise cut off whatever reply he might have made; from the forest beyond the village came the distinct, hair-raising sound of howling, keening and slow. First one creature only, and then picked up by many, the howls seemed to echo through the brittle air with an otherworldly ominousness.

Ammi shivered, and Kol felt her body shaking. "What was _that_?"

"Worgs," Kol said. "They're hunting."

Though the creatures were distant, he could already smell their distinct scent on the wind, and it sent a shiver of both recognition and aggression down his spine. He willed his eyes not to slit ferally as he imagined them doing.

" _Hunting_?" Ammi's voice rose almost an entire octave in pitch.

"Hunting animals," Kol amended himself quickly. "Not people. Most worgs won't attack a person unless they're threatened."

"Kol, I can't do this." Ammi shook her head feverishly, her curls bouncing around her face. Her eyes were almost manic with terror.

"They won't hurt you," Kol said. "Trust me, Ammi, I'm scared of more things than a warrior should be, but the worgs are the least of our worries." He didn't elaborate on why, hoping she would be soothed rather than curious.

" _I'm terrified of wolves, Kol_." Ammi clutched his arm so hard that he almost inhaled with the pressure of it. "I have been ever since I was little."

An almost giddy sensation of dread trickled down from Kol's head all the way into his toes, and he swore he felt tears threatening in the cloud behind his vision. He stared at his arm, _through_ his arm and into the blood boiling beneath his skin, as if by just glaring at it hard enough, he could change what it was, somehow.

 _They set the wolf to guard the shepherdess. And they let her become his friend._

"I promise you that you'll be fine," he said dazedly, patting Ammi's shoulder without really realizing what he was doing. "They probably won't come near us, anyway."

Ammi just continued to shake her head, her teeth chattering audibly as her breathing sped up almost to hyperventilation.

Hating himself, feeling a traitor and a deceiver, Kol wrapped an arm around his friend's shoulders and let her lean her head on his chest, her nose pressed into the thick layer of furs and leathers shielding him from the wind. His human fingers mocked him from where they rested against her elbow.

 _Guardian, indeed. Guardian of nightmares._

* * *

By the time night had properly fallen, Ammi had calmed and regained control of herself once more, blue eyes set and steeled against the task ahead. Her face was pale and drained of cheer, but she did not shiver anymore, and her focus could not be denied.

Kol still felt vaguely nauseous from the earlier revelation, but he endeavored not to show a shred of the sick anxiety on his face, calmly going about the business of running a whetstone down both edges of his regulation longsword until they gleamed wickedly in the reflected light from the fires outside their snowbank. Nifflevar had not yet fallen asleep, and its braziers and torches burned powerfully beneath the soft light of a quarter-moon.

"Can you see anything?" the young warrior whispered.

Ammi peered out around the edge of the snowbank, ducking her head low. "There are four sentries," she murmured back. "Two of them are standing guard at the gate of the village, and two of them are flying above the village on their drakes."

Kol swore softly. "No fire magic, then. We'll have to outwit them and outfight them."

"I can't use a sword," Ammi said.

"I can handle both of the ground sentries." Kol waved a hand. "You just need to focus on sneaking past them. Get to the biggest building and light it on fire while you're invisible. That will give them something to worry about besides a couple of little intruders."

"I'll only have—"

"Twenty seconds, I know." Kol nodded. "You can do it. I won't let them find you."

There was a soft huff of breath, and for the first time since their earlier conversation, Kol looked up at Ammi and met her eyes. Instantly, he regretted it; the amount of trust in the liquid blue of her irises was almost enough to make him confess right at that moment.

"Whatever happens…I'm glad we met." She swallowed hard. "You're my best friend, Kol."

His heart was both warm and icy cold at the same moment, and Kol willed himself not to choke on his words.

"And you're my best friend, Ammi."

Leaving it at that, they both eased out of the snowbank and crouched behind their makeshift shelter, gazing down toward the village. Kol waited for the closest mounted sentry to circle away from them before silently gesturing at Ammi to follow him as he slid quickly through the snow and toward the gate. Ammi followed suit more slowly, letting Kol keep himself between her and the guards.

Kol made sure to keep their path non-linear, zigging and zagging across the frozen earth; it became easier as they drew closer, the snows having been cleared away by the Winterskorn villagers earlier that day. He knelt and picked up a pair of sharp-edged stones, drawing to a halt some few meters away from the two ground sentries at a diagonal from their position, concealed from their view by a decently-sized boulder. Ammi crouched beside him, her eyes following the path of one of the mounted sentries as his drake circled past again, fanged maw grinning eerily.

"As soon as I distract them, you have to move, okay?" Kol asked softly.

"I can do it." Ammi nodded rigidly.

"I know you can." He squeezed her shoulder once. "Hey. See you on the other side."

She gave him a pale ghost of a smile, a flicker in the dark; it was all he was going to get.

Kol turned back, waiting for the drake to slide by, and then he was all action. He hefted one of the stones in his hand, turned it once, and then hurled it mightily toward the sentries. It struck the wall of the village just to the left of one of them, and he turned in startled surprise, glaring into the dim distance and barking out something in the vrykul tongue. His partner replied to him boredly, but turned his face as well, seemingly disbelieving.

Kol let go with the other stone, this time hitting the closer sentry in the back. The man exclaimed and turned to his companion indignantly, words issuing from his mouth in what seemed to be a harsh stream of insults. The other sentry replied in kind, and soon they were both shouting at one another, utterly disregarding their duty.

"Twenty seconds, Ammi," Kol said. "Start counting."

He didn't watch her reaction, only steeled himself and sprinted out from behind the boulder, charging toward the two sentries at full speed.

They were preoccupied, but not blind, and both of them turned when they caught sight of him, their eyes opening wide first in surprise, and then in what looked like derision. One of them started to speak, but Kol didn't give him a chance, the sharpened sword dancing in and out to leave a long cut across the vrykul's bare arm. The blood glistened and steamed in the frosty air.

The giant man roared in indignation and pain and swiped a hand at Kol, which the young warrior evaded easily, sliding out of the way as if it were a dance. His comrade now joined the fray, and Kol went back and forth with the two sentries, slicing and dodging and slicing again, and all the time keeping them occupied. The fight felt much longer than it was; Kol let go a deep sigh of relief when he saw flames spark to life inside the village, followed promptly by the sounds of angry shouting and rushed footsteps.

 _Well done, Ammi._

Confident now that there was a suitable diversion, Kol tonelessly dispatched both sentries in a matter of seconds, willing himself not to cringe at the sight of their blood, bright red against the pale snow. He forced his eyes away from the corpses and into the village; the drake riders were no longer circling, their attention drawn by the huge bonfire now roaring into the dark night sky. With a faint, private grin, Kol slipped through the unguarded gate and into the village.

He met no one; the Winterskorn were all now well and truly occupied with the problem of the fire, which had caught and spread over the roofs of their dry wooden buildings.

 _Ammi might have done too thoroughly well with her task_ , he mused wryly.

The building he sought, however, remained still untouched by the flames; it was the largest one, and occupied the prime spot at the furthest edge of the village from the gate, resting on the precipice which overlooked the sheer drop down the fjord. Glancing over the edge, Kol just made out the twinkling lights of Valgarde's torches far below.

The door was locked, but Kol paid it no mind; he stood back, readied himself, and delivered a few swift blows with his heel. The warped wood cracked and bowed inward, and the door gave way before him, a blast of warm air washing over his face from the inside of the building. The room which lay beyond was huge, far wider and taller than a chamber in any human house; and with good reason, for the man who stood in front of the roaring fire with his axe held securely in both hands was equally massive, his bare and muscular chest draped with a mane of long brown hair. He glared defiantly at Kol as the young warrior entered the dwelling.

"Have the little humans sent you to kill me, then?" he asked in heavily-accented Common. "Tell them that it doesn't matter whether I die tonight. The vrykul will reclaim what is ours."

"You first. Then your master," Kol replied.

"You will never breach Utgarde Keep." The huge vrykul laughed in scorn.

"Rarely has a worse mistake been made than underestimating the 'lesser races.'" Kol shook his head. "But I suppose people like you will never learn."

"Enough banter, human scum," the vrykul growled, raising his axe. "My blade is hungry for blood."

Kol felt the bloodrage singing through his veins, as well, but he gritted his teeth and fought it back.

 _I'm better than that. I am not my Curse._

The fight began, sword clashing against axe with tremendous force as both men met, parted, and met again. The vrykul was as strong as he was enormous, and Kol found himself forced to dodge more often than he could parry the blows, the axe biting slivers from the floor as it sang past his body. Kol managed to open several shallow slices across the vrykul man's bare chest, but his massive opponent simply ignored the blows, bellowing with rage as he pursued Kol away from the fire and back toward the door.

Sweat beaded on Kol's brow, trickling past his eyes; the itching urge to shift shape, to turn the tide of battle back in his own favor, tugged mercilessly at him beneath his skin. He had caught the scent of the blood, and could feel his pupils dilating as it triggered the feral senses, his teeth unconsciously bared in a snarl.

 _Fight it back. Keep control._

Another swing of the axe, another miss. Kol left another long wound across the vrykul's abdomen and danced back, looking for an opening.

Suddenly, a high, shrill, terrified scream split the air; it was a female voice, clearly either in pain or in danger. Kol recognized the voice, and it cut through the fog of battle and chilled his heart to the very core.

 _No._

The vrykul laughed maliciously. "It seems your game is up, human. What a choice you have. Do you kill me, or do you rescue whatever little friend is out there waiting for you? That is, if it isn't already dead."

The sound of Ammi's scream rang in Kol's ears, and he let loose a bestial growl and swung his sword viciously, unthinking, without bothering to watch his aim or his guard.

The vrykul clearly was not expecting Kol to reply with a strike, and he let out a loud cry of his own as a deep, bleeding rent opened itself in his chest. It was not deep enough to kill, not yet, but blood flowed from it in a smooth stream, glimmering dully on the huge man's fingers as he pressed a hand to it to stop the flow.

"I'll be back for you," Kol warned dangerously.

"I'll tear you limb from limb, boy," the vrykul hissed, but Kol had vanished before he could make good on his threat.

Kol's senses, already heightened by the rage of battle, now rested on a razor's edge, keen as the blade of his sword. He caught every scent brought to him by the breeze; smoke, furs, the stench of body odor, animals, meat—and there, beneath it all, something that smelled like citrus, out of place and distinctive.

Kol followed it immediately, sprinting as fast as his human legs would carry him, but the scream came again, even higher this time. Ammi was in terrible danger; Kol could smell the fear alongside the lemon scent, and it only provoked him more.

 _No—I'm her guardian! I can't let this happen! Not again!_

Unwillingly, his mind called forth the image of Liam Greymane's pale, lifeless face, and Kol almost physically recoiled from the thought.

 _I can't protect her unless I let go. And she'll hate me…but I have to save her. I made her a promise, and I will not let her die._

With a cry of rage and frustration, Kol allowed the bloodrage to take over, and shifted shape.

* * *

It was still searingly painful; white hot flashes erupted all over his body as he bent forward, front paws touching the ground and doubly increasing his speed. His slitted eyes were fixed ahead now, and sharp canines glinted in the burning light. The young Worgen ran faster than ever he had in his life, following the now-powerful path of scent.

He came upon Ammi just as she screamed again; she was trapped against a rock wall only a little ways outside the village. Clearly, she had hidden just as he had directed her to, but somehow the proto-drakes had sensed her anyway. The long metal quarterstaff which she gripped tightly in both hands was stained at its top end with blood, and the corpse of one of the Winterskorn lay beside her, his head still bleeding slowly. His proto-drake, however, was still very much alive, and it now advanced on the young mage with grinning jaws open wide and gleaming with the first hints of a fiery blast.

Kol slammed into the beast's side at full force, knocking the thing back with a blow from his entire body. It squawked and roared in pain and rage, immediately turning its attention from Ammi to this newer threat, its vestigial arms rotating as it flapped its leathery wings.

Kol let loose a low, feral growl, his sight already stained red. The smell of blood still hovered in his nostrils, and through the scarlet miasma, the proto-drake did not seem anywhere near as big as it had before. It advanced toward him with its strange, rolling walk, clawing at the ground with those tiny arms. Kol charged at it and swiped it across the snout with his claws, jumping away as it hissed and let loose a thin stream of fire. The blast shot past him, singeing some of the fur on his back, but Kol barely noticed, charging in again with teeth savagely bared.

The two creatures locked themselves into bestial combat, clawing and snarling at one another furiously. Kol took several hits, a few minor and a few more serious, but he did not relent, dealing out as much damage as he took. The drake hissed and roared, letting loose more spurts of flame, but it was growing weaker.

Finally, Kol managed to clamp his teeth down around the thing's bony neck; it screamed and writhed as fiercely as any serpent, but it was already dying, and Kol held on ceaselessly until its struggles slowed and finally ceased, the fiery light behind its scales dying out to the grey hiss of doused ashes. He spat the thing out and howled, letting the sound of his victory echo in the air.

He turned his head and caught sight of a pale golden flash some distance away, and growing further from him every moment; at first, it meant nothing to him, but then a thought pierced the bloodlust in a sudden burst of clarity.

 _Ammi. She's running away._

His human consciousness flooded back in a sick, burning rush.

 _She's running away from_ me _._

His teeth still red, his tongue still tasting blood, Kol sprinted after her.

He caught her easily; Ammi could not run nearly as fast as a Worgen even under normal circumstances, and she dragged one of her legs behind her as she went now, a sure sign that she was injured under the robe.

Kol passed her beneath the trees and shot out to head her off, skidding to a stop in the snow as she approached him. She still clung to the quarterstaff, and let out a frightened cry when she caught sight of him, raising it high in a shoddy defensive stance.

"Kol!" she screamed. "Help me!"

 _Oh, Light._

With a heavy ache in his chest, Kol shoved himself up onto his back paws and stood bipedal, raising his front paws in a gesture of surrender.

"Don't fear me," he rumbled in his low Worgen growl. "I would never hurt you, Ammi."

She inhaled sharply, clutching the staff even more tightly. "You…you're _speaking_. How do you know my name? What _are_ you?"

Kol let out a long sigh. "I am your guardian."

She remained uncomprehending for a long moment, the words hanging in the air; then, realization dawned, and with it, horror.

"… _Kol?_ "

He swallowed and faded back into his human shape, the wind biting at the skin that had been exposed by the attacks of the proto-drake. It always hurt much more in his weaker form.

"Ammi, please don't be afraid," Kol said softly. "I would never harm you."

Ammi didn't let go of the quarterstaff. "What _are_ you, Kol?" she asked again, her voice hollow.

He felt the tears pricking now, and didn't fight their advance. "Worgen. I'm Cursed. Half-man and half-beast, for the rest of my life."

"Oh, Light. Oh, blessed, holy Light." Ammi did let go of the staff then, and it fell into the snow as she sagged to her knees, letting loose a faint whimper of pain as her injured leg bent.

"You're hurt!" He started forward, wanting to do something, _anything_ , to take away the awful, haunted look in her eyes.

"Don't touch me," she whispered.

He jerked backward as if she had struck him.

"Ammi…no. Please, don't do this. I'm still me, I swear. I'm still your friend."

"You could have told me at any time, Kol." Ammi looked up at him in feverish desperation. "Why didn't you? Why did you wait for this to happen?"

"I was— _am_ —ashamed. And disgusted." He bowed his head. "I didn't ask for this to happen to me, Ammi. The Curse was shoved into my life, and now I have to suffer with it until I die. I _scare_ people. Children run from me, and the rest of humanity thinks I'm a monster. And you…now you hate me, too."

She didn't speak for a long moment; then, in a small voice, she asked, "What happened to the proto-drake?"

He looked up with red-rimmed eyes. "I killed it."

At that, Ammi looked startled. "You killed a _proto-drake_?"

"To save you? Yes. I'm still your guardian, Cursed or not, and I will defend you until I die trying." He rested his fist over his heart, emulating his earlier words. "I made you a promise."

That gave her pause, and she watched him in silence, searching him with her eyes. He let her, closing his own eyes and surrendering utterly to whatever search she desired to make of him. His heart was still sick with pain, his stomach rippling with nausea.

"Kol?"

He didn't open his eyes. "Yes?"

"My leg really, really hurts. I can't stand up."

Kol did open his eyes then; she was crying quietly, her shoulders shaking with fear and anger and relief.

"Do you want my help?" he asked softly.

"…Yes." She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and didn't look at him. "Please."

He crossed to her immediately, lifting her as gently as he could and cradling her in his arms. Her ankle was swelling beneath her soft boot, and Kol suspected that it was sprained or even fractured. She shuddered slightly against his touch, but didn't draw away or say anything.

"I'll prove to you that I'm not a monster." He started to walk, away from Nifflevar and back toward the path down into the fjord, toward Valgarde and toward safety. "Ammi, I swear, I'll prove it. Whatever it may require of me."

They continued on in silence.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been almost exactly four weeks since Ammi had spoken a single word to him, and Kol was beginning to think that she really, truly hated him.

The idea hurt more than he had expected it to—if he had been back at the Academy, he supposed he could have shrugged it off with only a momentary feeling of disappointment. None of the boys at the Academy had ever really been his friends, though, except for Liam. Ammi was the first person in almost four years that he had really been able to call 'friend'—and the first girl he could ever have said it about in his whole life.

 _Why didn't I just tell her I was Worgen in the first place? It would have saved us both so much pain._

Kol continued to mentally berate himself for his failure day after day. It seemed so obvious now, in hindsight—of _course_ he should have told Ammi that he was Cursed. Why in the Light's name had he thought he would be able to make it through this entire campaign without ever having to shift? She should have been made aware from the beginning, and allowed to decide she wanted a new guardian before…

 _Before we got attached. Before we became…friends._

He still considered Ammi his friend, no matter what she thought of him. The energetic young mage and her neverending stream of words had somehow impressed herself upon his heart, and now, as he glanced across the slowly-emptying mess hall at where she sat alone, he could feel only sadness and sharp, prickling guilt. He didn't blame her for being scared of him. He was frightened, too—frightened of the shadow that lurked inside his veins.

 _She should have a different guardian. So she won't need to feel afraid of the person who's supposed to be keeping her safe._

But even then, Kol knew that he would always protect Ammi. He had sworn an oath, and if he had nothing else, he had that.

Heaviness in his heart, the young warrior rose from his table, taking his bowl of uneaten stew with him as he headed for the barracks.

* * *

Ammi couldn't prevent her eyes from trailing Kol as he rose and exited the mess hall alone, his shoulders bowed and his head hanging low with the weight of what she knew to be sadness and shame. He walked slowly, as if someone had chained his feet to the floor and he were struggling against the weight of the irons with every step he took.

She hadn't spoken a word to him in a month. How could she? Every time she looked at him, the awful guilt began to well up inside her, freezing her words solid in her mouth. For the first time ever in her life, Amily D'Aure was completely at a loss for words, and it was her own fault. She had treated Kol _terribly_ that night in Nifflevar, and she knew she had, letting her irrational fear get in the way of everything she knew about this boy—this man—who had served as her guardian since the day she had arrived in Valgarde. He was kind, sweet, loyal, honorable, and certainly trustworthy, and she had treated him as though he were an enemy.

And _why_? Just because he was a Worgen, an existence that had been thrust upon him through no fault of his own. Ammi still hated herself for the flickers of fear and disgust that went through her every time she even thought the word.

 _Those Worgen in Silverpine were vicious killers, yes. But Kol is not them. He will never be them._

Faint memories of slicing claws and razor teeth flashed across her mind, and Ammi pushed them away with a grimace. She had plenty of good reasons to fear Worgen.

 _But not to fear Kol. Because Kol isn't just a mindless monster. He's…my best friend._

She had realized it on that night, when he had set his hands protectively on her shoulders and looked at her with such determination in his eyes. He had sworn an oath on his life to be her protector, and the expression on his face had let her know that he would sooner die than let her come to harm. That wasn't the kind of promise made by unthinking predators.

"I have to say something," Ammi murmured to herself, rising from the table. "I have to." She followed Kol's path out of the room, feeling the same weight pressing down on her shoulders as she went.

Her bowl of food remained behind her, uneaten.

* * *

Kol heard the footsteps behind him as he started up the staircase toward the officers' quarter of the huge stone castle which was the barracks building. He turned to see who was approaching, and felt his heart give a quiet lurch when he saw the flash of golden curls in the bright torchlight illuminating the corridor.

Ammi walked right toward him, ignoring the turn for the hallway which would have taken her to the women's quarter and her own room; her blue eyes were locked securely on his face, and try as he might, Kol could not bring himself to break away from her gaze. Her expression was unreadable, but Kol was sure she was thinking all sorts of terrible thoughts—thoughts that he himself had had on more than one occasion.

She stopped at the bottom of the staircase, staring up at him in silence, and for a long moment, nothing passed between them. Kol wasn't sure he wanted anything to; whatever either of them said had the potential to permanently destroy everything they had once been. Once the line was drawn, there was no crossing back over it.

Finally, Ammi opened her mouth first. "Where are you going?"

Kol was surprised at how timid her voice sounded, as if she were speaking to him for the first time. He supposed it was only natural that she would be wary if she feared him, but the tone hadn't sounded scared—just nervous and a little sad.

"The officers' quarter," he made himself say blankly. It wouldn't hurt for her to know that they would be separated in the morning—actually, it might just make things easier. "I'm going to have them assign you a new guardian to take my place."

"What? No!" Ammi's eyes widened, and Kol saw a genuine grief in them that made him instantly want to take the words back. "Why would you do that?!"

 _Why is she protesting?_

"Because you're frightened of me, and you shouldn't have to be frightened of someone who's supposed to be protecting you," Kol replied wearily, feeling the words drop from his tongue like leaden weights. "You'll be much better off…without me."

He hated that it was true. She was his only friend. Without her, he was alone again, and where once it would have just been his workaday existence, it was a yawning abyss of sadness and silence when he compared it to the brightness and chatter of their relationship. He felt his heart ache, and he did his best to shut down the sensation, to just feel nothing.

"I don't want anyone else!" Ammi cried vehemently. There were tears glistening in her eyes now, threatening to spill over onto her cheeks. " _You're_ my guardian, Kol. You're my best friend!"

"Your—wait, hold on; _what_?" It took all of his self-control not to actually fall down the stairs from shock. "Ammi, I scared you to _death_. You haven't spoken a word to me in a month."

"That's not because I'm afraid of you!" Ammi scrubbed at her eyes viciously, a few teardrops escaping her swipes and rolling lazily across her freckles, glittering tracks shining in their wake. "I'm so ashamed of myself, Kol! I treated you so badly and you still helped me anyway, even after everything I said. Every time I've seen you it's made me want to curl up into a ball and die from how guilty I feel!" She gave a great, shuddering exhale, her lower lip trembling slightly.

Kol was completely stunned and slightly overwhelmed by the forceful announcements, but that didn't stop the instinct that guided him down the stairs toward her, or the one that made him wrap his arms around her in a wary but genuine hug. She didn't pull away from him this time, leaning her head against his chest and accepting the embrace.

"Ammi, I…don't really know what to say." It was the truth. What _could_ he say? How could he explain to her that _he_ still felt guilty—would continue to feel guilty every day of his life for the fear and shock and terror that his other form inspired?

"I have a story I need to tell you," Ammi said, biting her lip and halting the flow of her tears with a tremendous effort, he could see. Her voice shook a little, but she ignored it. "Come with me."

Still faintly shocked, Kol let her take him by the hand, following the sensation of her smooth, tiny palm in his as she pulled him down the hallway.

* * *

She took him to her room. Kol had never been into the women's side of the barracks before, and he was surprised to see that it looked pretty much like the men's, except that the rooms had a little more space for washing up and storing personal amenities. Another bed waited across the room from Ammi's, potentially for a second occupant, but for now, it was empty—there were far fewer women in Valgarde than there were men.

Ammi sat down on her bed, and gestured for Kol to sit beside her; feeling his cheeks warming a little, the young man did so, gingerly crossing his legs beneath him. He had never been in a girl's bedroom before, and while he certainly had no suspicion that Ammi wanted anything frivolous out of him, the intimacy of the space was still heavy all around him.

"What's this story, Ammi?" he asked gently, when she did not speak first.

Ammi raised her head and met his eyes, and hers were not so unreadable anymore—Kol clearly saw pain and guilt in her face, along with the tiniest bit of fear.

"When I was nine years old," she said, beginning without warning, "my father took my family on a journey with him to Hillsbrad."

Kol settled back into a listening posture, his hands resting against his knees as he kept his eyes fixed intently on her face, on her lips as the words poured out like water from a churning cloud.

"It was a business journey—Father runs a shipping industry, and he was in Southshore to negotiate terms with one of his clients." Ammi's eyes were distant, lost in the cloud of memory she was dredging up. "While he was talking prices and times, Mother decided to take my brother Ryland and me to Silverpine Forest for the day, to walk and enjoy the northern air. The twins were to stay and assist Father, as part of their training to take over part of the business when they were older.

"Mother and Ryland and I arrived in Silverpine in the afternoon, by carriage, and Mother told the driver to wait for us in Hanford, which was the little town where we were let off. He agreed, and we set off walking, using one of the footpaths leading away from the town. The air was clear, and the weather was cool and beautiful, and we three were having a grand time talking and laughing and just enjoying ourselves. We walked further and further away from the town, but Mother insisted we could turn around at any time and be back before the sun began to set." Ammi inhaled a deep, shivering breath, and Kol could sense that the story was about to take a turn for the worse.

"We didn't turn back soon enough," Ammi whispered. "The sun was setting, and we were still walking back through the forest. Mother had realized our error, and she kept me in the middle, between her and Ryland, to try to protect me. I didn't know why they were scared, but I could sense that they were. We were about three-quarters of the way back to the town when suddenly we heard a low growling sound from somewhere in the trees, off to our right. It sounded like some kind of animal, and my mother immediately shoved me into Ryland's arms and stood in front of us, pulling a small dagger out from a sheath on her leg where she hid it."

Kol's stomach twisted.

"What was the noise?" he asked softly, though he already knew the answer.

"Worgen," Ammi said, her voice catching on the word. "Three of them, growling and slavering and ready to kill us. They came at us to surround us, and I think my mother thought we were really going to die. She told my brother to get ready to run away, and that she was going to—" Her voice broke again, and Kol shook his head quickly.

"I think I understand." He put a hand on her shoulder, and Ammi looked at him with gratitude, nodding and skipping ahead in her tale.

"One of the Worgen had Mother pinned to the ground, about to…to kill her. The other two were closing in on my brother and me, and I think I knew then, for the first time ever in my life, that I really could die." Ammi swallowed hard. "But then there was a loud explosion, and the Worgen that had my mother pinned fell down dead. The other two heard the sound and instantly ran away; a moment later, some militiamen from Hanford burst through the trees, demanding to know if we were all right. My mother said we were, and no one died, but…"

"But you were afraid of Worgen from that moment on," Kol finished for her, his voice gentle. "Ammi, I don't blame you. Not at all. Feral Worgen—they're absolutely terrifying. They _are_ the monsters that you think they are; mindless and driven only by the instinct to kill." He shoved down his rush of sickness at the faint memory of his own feral days.

"But you're not like them, Kol." Ammi shook her head.

"I was like them, once," he said simply. "All Worgen are at some point. But we—the Gilnean Worgen—chose our humanity instead of our other selves."

She was quiet for a long moment, and Kol waited for her to speak again. "Do you…remember what that's like?" she finally asked. "Being that way?"

"Awful," he said immediately, blocking out the vicious memories. "Monstrous in every sense of the word. I would _never_ want to go back to that kind of existence, Ammi. You have to believe me."

"I believe you," she murmured. "And…and I'm sorry I thought you were that way. You aren't. You're the most honorable and least monstrous person I know, and you are my best friend and my guardian. I don't want anyone else."

A flood of intense, almost painful relief washed through Kol at the sound of the words, searing his heart and spirit with joy like he had never felt before.

 _I am not going to be alone again._

Despite the intimacy of the gesture and what other people might have perceived it as, Kol reached out and hugged Ammi tight, holding her to his chest with genuine gratitude and affection.

" _Thank you_ ," he breathed.

He felt another surge of elation when she hugged him back.


	4. Chapter 4

Ammi could have sworn, as she stared out over the bleak, barren landscape of the central Dragonblight, that the wind itself was a force set against the success of humanity.

She glanced over at Kol, her traveling companion and best friend, as he set to work trying to unroll their camp packs against the force of the freezing galewinds. Kol was tall and strong, even for a Worgen, but the icy blasts continued to pull the blankets and utensils right out of his hands, forcing him to hang on with all his strength.

"This is unlike anything I've ever seen before," he growled as he hauled a cooking pot back to its original place beside their hastily-scratched fire pit, which was already beginning to fill back in with dirt and ice shards.

"Northrend is unforgiving," Ammi sighed. "Clearly, the Lich King doesn't appreciate the living coming in to encroach on his creepy frozen territory."

Kol finally got one of the bedrolls out and spread open on the ground, quickly sitting on it before it had a chance to be blown away. "Remind me to thank him with a sound whack on that metal head of his," he said, smacking the cooking pot against his palm menacingly. It looked a little ridiculous, and Ammi giggled quietly, though she made an effort to mask the amusement for the sake of Kol's dignity.

"Can I help in any way?" she asked, surveying the little campsite with no small degree of disappointment. When they had received their commission from the Seventh Legion, the prestigious military unit in charge of Dragonblight, they had anticipated life-or-death conflicts in an epic pursuit of glory and righteousness. Reconnaissance in the bitter cold was rather more lackluster in comparison with their lost pipe dreams.

"Unless you have some way of keeping the wind out, not really," Kol replied heavily. "I have no idea how we're supposed to get anything done."

Ammi tapped her knuckles against her knee in vexation. "I wish I was a better study at arcanism…I'd be able to make a barrier then."

Kol shrugged. "Does no good to wish, Ammi. Besides, you're a better pyromancer than any I've seen—don't take it too hard about the other disciplines. This is only for one night, and we'll make do." He smiled, and the sight of his wolf teeth baring in a grin made Ammi smile too, just a little.

"Okay. But, Kol?"

"Yes?" Kol tilted his head inquisitively.

"I'm going to need the other bedroll."

* * *

Luckily, the wind died with the sun, leaving them cold but undisturbed as night fell over the wasteland, the silver moonlight touching the bleached dragon bones with a glimmer like precious gems. Finally wrapped in her bedroll and blankets, seated beside the campfire that she had proudly lit, Ammi gazed out over the field of bones once again, finding both a strange solace and an unspeakable loneliness in the desolate sight.

Kol, now in human form and with a steaming mug of coffee held between both hands, slid over to sit beside her, his eyes following hers out across the expanse with an expression of curiosity and trepidation. His gingery hair and beard glittered with frost, and Ammi reached up and brushed some of it out of his curls with a small smile.

"You've got ice in your hair, Kol. Might want to see to that."

Kol gave her a sideways smirk. "I think you've just done it for me, haven't you?" He didn't push her hand away, though, and she just laughed and ruffled his hair until all the ice crystals had vanished. After that, they sat in contemplative silence for another very long moment, the moon casting streaming shadows before them so that they appeared as giants towering over the plateau.

"Ammi?"

"Hm?" Ammi turned her head to meet his eyes, raising a brow curiously.

"What do you see when you look out there?" Kol's voice was quiet and almost tentative, as if he suspected that the answer might not be something he would like or understand. But that was just Kol's way, Ammi knew; he was a warrior and had no trappings of magic save for his Curse, which neither of them really understood all that well.

Ammi exhaled a slow breath, watching it form a mist in the freezing air as she considered her reply; finally, she turned back to watch the sky again, her words meandering forth like they weren't quite sure of their direction.

"Do you see the little glittering pieces far away over there?" she asked, pointing her finger at the distant shimmer of the dragon bones.

Kol nodded. "Yes."

"They're the bones of dragons, come here when they knew their lives were about to end," Ammi said with a soft sigh. "Dragons of every flight come here to lie at rest when they die, surrounded by the bones of their kin, a more indestructible memorial than anything humans could carve out of stone. They've been doing it for centuries, nigh on millennia, and still, the bones of every single dragon ever to come to rest lie there in the Dragon Wastes, preserved by the strength of their magic."

Kol said nothing, but Ammi could tell that even with his limited knowledge of sorcery, the thought entranced his sense of imagination just as it did hers.

"I can feel that magic, Kol," Ammi whispered, leaning forward to rest her head on her knees. "I can feel it rising from the land and from their bones, pressing against me with all the centuries of their power. I can feel it, and I want so badly to be a part of it all."

"A part of what all?" Kol sounded a little wary, as if she'd just expressed the desire to join up with a cult or something.

"All the world's magic," Ammi said, turning back to him with a glimmer in her eyes; a wild, foreign hope and desperation which Kol found both beautiful and worrisome. He had never seen his friend look as she did now, filled with so much longing that it seemed it might explode out of her. The firelight sent golden flickers off of her blonde waves of hair, and although he didn't say it out loud, she already seemed to be as one with that strange magical presence which he could not sense or feel. It made him feel keenly distant from her, and the feeling was not a good one.

"Ammi, you're already a powerful sorceress," he said quietly. "I don't know what it is that you feel out there, but…in my estimation, you don't need it to become stronger."

Ammi laughed quietly, and a little of the anxiety ebbed out of Kol's heart at the sound. That was the Ammi that he knew, the girl who could laugh at anything.

"You probably think I'm crazy, don't you?" she said, giving him a gentle knock on the shoulder.

He returned the gesture with a half-smile. "Only a little. But I doubt we would be friends if you weren't. You're more interesting than sane people."

She gave a genuine laugh at that, and he let his own smile widen.

"You're a good friend, Kol." Ammi leaned her head on his shoulder and stared back out over the landscape, but her eyes were not as distant as before, and he was glad.

"Ammi, what would you do with all that magic?" he asked after a slight pause.

"I'd march right into Dalaran and prove myself to the Kirin Tor," Ammi replied without hesitation. "I've wanted to be one of them since I learned that I had magic."

Kol smiled a little; that notion was at least more down to earth than her previous statement. "Ammi, you could join the Kirin Tor right now if you wanted to. You're just as good as their magi. Better than some."

Ammi snorted. "Forgive me for my derision, Kolbyon, but you are a warrior. You have no idea what the Kirin Tor's standards are, but I do, and I know I have a ways to go still."

Kol grinned. "Then how about this, Miss Amily D'Aure: until you are initiated as a mage of the Order of the Kirin Tor or the Violet Eye or whatever it is that they call themselves, I promise to stand by your side as friend and supporter in all things. Do we have an agreement?"

Ammi looked up at him with a smile of true delight. "Do you mean it, Kol?"

Kol nodded sagely. "As much as I've ever meant anything."

There was only a slight hesitation before she hugged him warmly around the middle.

"Deal," Ammi said joyfully. "We have a deal."

Kol just hugged her in return and sipped his coffee with the trace of a smile lingering on his face.


End file.
